“ABSORBING …
Dexter’s narrative manages to be both cinematic and cerebral with its quick cross-cutting of scenes and its surprising revelations. Morse’s quick mind zips from point A to points XYZ with no stopping in between.”
—The Orlando Sentinel
“Death is Now My Neighbor takes this series to a new level of skillfulness and appeal. Mr. Dexter’s books are brilliantly clever concoctions, the prose equivalents of the crosswords his Inspector Morse is hooked on. The author blends elements of the classic puzzle-mystery, the police procedural, and a character saga to create a type of detective novel all his own.”
—The Wall Street Journal
“Dexter excels in constructing clever plots full of erudite clues and droll characterizations. Death is Now My Neighbor is no exception.”
—San Francisco Chronicle
“Vintage Dexter: a complex tangle of blackmail, sex, and ruthless academic politics.… Followers of the irascible detective will not be disappointed.”
—Lexington Herald-Leader
“Here is a skilled master at the peak of his powers.”
—St. Louis Post-Dispatch
“HIGHLY RECOMMENDED …
The plotting is tight and the reasoning faultless in this most cerebral of police procedurals.”
—The Montgomery Advertiser
“The book is a masterful example of the unique genre of the British mystery. Tongue-in-cheek asides and scathing indictments against most of society’s accepted institutions enliven what is a complex puzzle.”
—Chattanooga Free Press
“Death is Now My Neighbor is a great treat for Morse fans.”
—Pittsburg Post-Gazette
“Newcomers … to the series will find themselves intrigued by the twists and turns of plot, not to mention the protagonist’s eccentric foibles.”
—Miami Tribune
“DEXTER IS IN HIGH GEAR.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“Dexter has crafted a fairly original plot, peopled it with enjoyable characters, and tosses about enough red herrings to put clue-hounds off the scent.”
—Richmond Times-Dispatch
“The incomparable Inspector Morse is back, irascible as ever, in a baffling mystery filled with sly wit and academic politics.”
—Baton Rouge Advocate
“The characters and the writing alike pulse with the endless capacity to surprise.”
—Kirkus Reviews
By Colin Dexter:
LAST BUS TO WOODSTOCK*
LAST SEEN WEARING*
THE SILENT WORLD OF NICHOLAS QUINN*
SERVICE OF ALL THE DEAD*
THE DEAD OF JERICHO*
THE RIDDLE OF THE THIRD MILE*
THE SECRET OF ANNEXE 3*
THE WENCH IS DEAD
THE JEWEL THAT WAS OURS*
THE WAY THROUGH THE WOODS*
THE DAUGHTERS OF CAIN*
MORSE’S GREATEST MYSTERY and Other Stories*
DEATH IS NOW MY NEIGHBOR*
*Published by Ivy Books
An Ivy Book
Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group
Copyright © 1996 by Colin Dexter
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by The Ballantine Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York. Originally published in the United Kingdom by Macmillan London, Ltd., in 1996, and in the United States by Crown Publishers, Inc., in 1997.
http://www.randomhouse.com
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 97-95015
eISBN: 978-0-307-77894-9
This edition published by arrangement with Crown Publishers, Inc.
v3.1
For
Joan Templeton
with gratitude
Acknowledgments
The author and publishers wish to thank the following who have kindly given permission for use of copyright materials:
Extract from The Dance by Philip Larkin reproduced by permission of Faber & Faber Ltd.;
Extract from the News of the World reproduced by permission of the News of the World;
Extract from Fowler’s Modern English Usage reproduced by permission of Oxford University Press;
Ace Reporter by Helen Peacocke reproduced by kind permission of the author;
Extract from Major Barbara by Bernard Shaw reproduced by permission of The Society of Authors on behalf of the Bernard Shaw Estate;
Extract from The Brontës by Juliet Barker reproduced by permission of Weidenfeld and Nicolson;
Extract from The Dry Salvages by T. S. Eliot reproduced by permission of Faber & Faber Ltd.;
Extract from Summoned by Bells by John Betjeman reproduced by permission of John Murray (Publishers) Ltd.;
Extract from Aubade by Philip Larkin reproduced by permission of Faber & Faber Ltd.;
Extract from May-Day Song for North Oxford by John Betjeman, from Collected Poems of John Betjeman, reproduced by permission of John Murray (Publishers) Ltd.;
Extract from This Be the Verse by Philip Larkin reproduced by permission of Faber & Faber Ltd.;
Extract by Philip Larkin on this page reproduced by permission of Faber & Faber Ltd.
Every effort has been made to trace all copyright holders but if any has been inadvertently overlooked, the author and publishers will be pleased to make the necessary arrangement at the first opportunity.
so that I may wet my mind and say
something clever.
—ARISTOPHANES
Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Prolegomenon
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Part Two
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Part Three
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Part Four
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Part Five
Chapter Fifty-three
Chapter Fi
fty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Chapter Fifty-six
Chapter Fifty-seven
Part Six
Chapter Fifty-eight
Chapter Fifty-nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-one
Chapter Sixty-two
Chapter Sixty-three
Chapter Sixty-four
Chapter Sixty-five
Part Seven
Chapter Sixty-six
Chapter Sixty-seven
Chapter Sixty-eight
Envoi
Prolegomenon
January 1996
A decided boon, therefore, are any multiple-choice items for those pupils in our classrooms who are either inured to idleness, or guilty of willful ignorance. Such pupils, if simply and appropriately instructed, have only to plump for the same answer on each occasion—let us say, choice (a) from choices (a) (b) (c) (d)—in order to achieve a reasonably regular score of some 25% of the total marks available. This is a wholly satisfactory return for academic incompetence.
—Crosscurrents in Assessment Criteria:
Theory and Practice, HMSO, 1983
“What time do you call this, Lewis?”
“The missus’s fault. Not like her to be late with the breakfast.”
Morse made no answer as he stared down at the one remaining unsolved clue:
“Stand for soldiers—5–4?”
Lewis took the chair opposite his chief and sat waiting for some considerable while, leafing through a magazine.
“Stuck, sir?” he asked finally.
“If I was—if I were—I doubt I’d get much help from you.”
“You never know,” suggested Lewis good-naturedly. “Perhaps—”
“Ah!” burst out Morse triumphantly, as he wrote in TOASTRACK. He folded The Times away and beamed across at his sergeant.
“You—are—a—genius, Lewis.”
“So you’ve often told me, sir.”
“And I bet you had a boiled egg for breakfast—with soldiers. Am I right?”
“What’s that got—?”
“What are you reading there?”
Lewis held up the title page of his magazine.
“Lew-is! There are more important things in life than the Thames Valley Police Gazette.”
“Just thought you might be interested in one of the articles here …”
Morse rose to the bait. “Such as?”
“There’s a sort of test—you know, see how many points you can score: ARE YOU REALLY WISE AND CULTURED?”
“Very doubtful in your case, I should think.”
“You reckon you could do better than I did?”
“Quite certain of it.”
Lewis grinned. “Quite certain, sir?”
“Absolutely.”
“Want to have a go, then?” Lewis’s mouth betrayed gentle amusement as Morse shrugged his indifference.
“Multiple-choice questions—you know all about—?”
“Get on with it!”
“All you’ve got to do is imagine the world’s going to end in exactly one week’s time, okay? Then you’ve got to answer five questions, as honestly as you can.”
“And you’ve already answered these questions yourself?”
Lewis nodded.
“Well, if you can answer them … Fire away!”
Lewis read aloud from the article:
Question One
Given the choice of only four CDs or cassettes, which one of the following would you be likely to play at least once?
(a) A Beatles album
(b) Fauré’s Requiem
(c) An Evening with Victor Borge
(d) The complete overtures to Wagner’s operas
With a swift flourish, Morse wrote down a letter.
Question Two
Which of these videos would you want to watch?
(a) Casablanca (the film)
(b) England’s World Cup victory (1966)
(c) Copenhagen Red-Hot Sex (2 hours)
(d) The Habitat of the Kingfisher (RSPB)
A second swift flourish from Morse.
Question Three
With which of the following women would you wish to spend some, if not all, of your surviving hours?
(a) Lady Thatcher
(b) Kim Basinger
(c) Mother Teresa
(d) Princess Diana
A third swift flourish.
Question Four
If you could gladden your final days with one of the following, which would it be?
(a) Two dozen bottles of vintage champagne
(b) Five hundred cigarettes
(c) A large bottle of tranquilizers
(d) A barrel of real ale
Flourish number four, and the candidate (confident of imminent success, it appeared) sat back in the black-leather armchair.
Question Five
Which of the following would you read during this period?
(a) Cervantes’ Don Quixote
(b) Dante’s The Divine Comedy
(c) A bound volume of Private Eye (1995)
(d) Homer’s Iliad
This time Morse hesitated some while before writing on the pad in front of him. “You did the test yourself, you say?”
Lewis nodded. “Victor Borge; the football; Princess Diana; the champagne; and Private Eye. Just hope Princess Di likes Champers, that’s all.”
“There must be worse ways of spending your last week on earth,” admitted Morse.
“I didn’t do so well, though—not on the marking. I’m not up there among the cultured and the wise, I’m afraid.”
“Did you expect to be?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Let’s hear what you picked, then.”
“My preferences, Lewis,” Morse articulated his words with precision, “were as follows: (b); (c); (b); (c); none of them.”
Turning to the back page, Lewis reminded himself of the answers putatively adjudged to be correct.
“I don’t believe it,” he whispered to himself. Then, to Morse: “You scored the maximum!”
“Are you surprised?”
Lewis shook his head in mild bewilderment.
“You chose, what, the Requiem?”
“Well?”
“But you’ve never believed in all that religious stuff.”
“It’s important if it’s true, though, isn’t it? Let’s just say it’s a bit like an insurance policy. A beautiful work, anyway.”
“Says here: ‘Score four marks for (b). Sufficient recommendation that it was chosen by three of the last four Popes for their funerals.’ ”
Morse lifted his eyebrows. “You didn’t know that?”
Lewis ignored the question and continued:
“Then you chose the sex video!”
“Well, it was either that or the kingfisher. I’ve already seen Casablanca a couple of times—and no one’s ever going to make me watch a football match again.”
“But I mean, a sex video …”
Morse, however, was clearly unimpressed by such obvious disapprobation. “It’d be the choice of those three Popes as well, like as not.”
“But it all gets—well, it gets so plain boring after a while.”
“So you keep telling me, Lewis. And all I’m asking is the chance to get as bored as everybody else. I’ve only got a week, remember.”
“I like your next choice, though. Beautiful girl, Kim Basinger. Beautiful.”
“Something of a toss-up, that—between her and Mother Teresa. But I’d already played the God card.”
“Then,” Lewis considered the next answer, “Arrghh, come off it, sir! You didn’t even go for the beer! You’re supposed to answer these questions honestly.”
“I’ve already got plenty of booze in,” said Morse. “Certainly enough to see me through to Judgment Day. And I don’t fancy facing the Great Beyond with a blinding hangover. It’ll be a new experience for me—tranquilizers
…”
Lewis looked down again, and proceeded to read out the reasons for Morse’s greatest triumph. “It says here, on Question Five, ‘Those choosing any of the suggested titles are clearly unfit for high honors. If any choice whatsoever is made, four marks will therefore be deducted from the final score. If the answer is a timid dash—or similar—no marks will be awarded, but no marks will be deducted. A more positively negative answer—e.g. “Come off it!”—will be rewarded with a bonus of four marks.’ ” Again Lewis shook his head. “Nonsense, isn’t it? ‘Positively negative,’ I mean.”
“Rather nicely put, I’d’ve thought,” said Morse.
“Anyway,” conceded Lewis, “you score twenty out of twenty according to this fellow who seems to have all the answers.” Lewis looked again at the name printed below the article. “ ‘Rhadamanthus’—whoever he is.”
“Lord Chief Justice of Appeal in the Underworld.”
Lewis frowned, then grinned. “You’ve been cheating! You’ve got a copy—”
“No!” Morse’s blue eyes gazed fiercely across at his sergeant. “The first I saw of that Gazette was when you brought it in just now.”
“If you say so.” But Lewis sounded less than convinced.
“Not surprised, are you, to find me perched up there on the topmost twig amongst the intelligentsia?”
“ ‘The wise and the cultured,’ actually.”
“And that’s another thing. I think I shall go crackers if I hear three things in my life much more: ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’; Eine Kleine Nachtmusik; and that wretched bloody word ‘actually.’ ”
“Sorry, sir.”
Suddenly Morse grinned. “No need to be, old friend. And at least you’re right about one thing. I did cheat—in a way.”
“You don’t mean you …?”
Morse nodded.
It had been a playful, pleasant interlude. Yet it would have warranted no inclusion in this chronicle had it not been that one or two of the details recorded herein were to linger significantly in the memory of Chief Inspector E. Morse of the Thames Valley Police HQ.
PART ONE
Chapter One
In hypothetical sentences introduced by “if” and referring to past time, where conditions are deemed to be “unfulfilled,” the verb will regularly be found in the pluperfect subjunctive, in both protasis and apodosis.